


Insubordination

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Authority Figures, Childhood Friends, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gun Violence, Inappropriate Erections, Leadership, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Pacer has problems, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Slurs, Spanking, post GI Blues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King takes disciplining Pacer into his own hand, while Pacer wraps the King around his little finger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insubordination

**Author's Note:**

> I find it really hard to write these two for some reason.
> 
> Also, my word processor crashed and deleted half of this so I had to rewrite it. Which kind of sucked ass.

* * *

                The King had been accused of being a hands-off sort of leader, and honestly, that suited him just fine. His commitment to the values of freedom and individuality made him dislike extensive involvement in people's affairs. As long as everyone was civil and played nice, he left them alone. The way he saw it, there was a fine line between being a leader and being a dictator, and he knew which side of that line he wanted to stay on.

                 Now, being a man of some intelligence, he knew full well that he would have to intervene someday, for some reason, in something, with more than just a stern talking-to. The particulars were up to chance, but inevitably something would go wrong and people would turn to him to sort it out. That was a responsibility he accepted. Some people needed to be told with actions, not words. He didn't relish that fact, but he wouldn't shirk his duties when the time came.

                 He never thought it would be Pacer who'd drive him to physical retaliation, though, or that the violence would be so... personal. In retrospect, he probably should have seen it coming. Even as a boy, Pacer had liked to push boundaries - craved the spark of anger in people's eyes. He was like a mine, set to go off whenever jostled. Short-tempered and wild, he was never controllable. Pacified, sometimes, but never controllable.

                 The King knew that. He also knew that Pacer knew he knew, and that the man made an effort to keep him wrapped tight around his finger. The King was born nostalgic - always preferring to look back at the rose-colored past, ignoring the ugliness of the present and the uncertainty of the future. Pacer let him get the details of their shared youths wrong, let him forget the times he'd been blamed for Pacer's pranks and antics, let him forget that Pacer's eyes were always cold, even as a boy.

                 But having all of that wasn't enough. Pacer had to push a little more, and that most recent push was what upset the whole tower of cards. He'd attacked the NCR's messenger. He'd led the Kings into danger, let the NCR attack, met fire with fire. It had nearly killed the helpful Courier. It did kill some of the boys. The Courier came to the King with a grave expression, a bundled leather jacket in his arms. When he opened it, the King could see the bloodied, ragged holes the NCR bullets had made.

                 "A few of your boys fell before I could get there," the Courier said bitterly. "Was my fault - I've never been all that fast. I ran as hard as I could, but by the time I got there, you'd already lost two."

                 The King took the jacket in his hands and stared at it.

                 "Which... uh... which ones?"

                "I - I don't know. Never knew their names. Young though. Real young."

                They'd buried them outside the walls of Freeside. The Courier attended the ceremony, such as it was, as the two bodies were laid to rest. It made the King sick, to see the shapes of the teenagers beneath the shrouds. They'd been new recruits. One of them hadn't even been to see Sergio yet - still had the bedraggled look of a squatter accustomed to wearing rags and sporting matted hair.

                Pacer had been there too, expressionless. Seeing him like that, witnessing the burial like a stranger, filled the King with an uncharacteristic rage. Enough was enough. He would show Pacer how to behave, he thought. He would _make_ Pacer behave.

                Even if he had to beat it into him.

                It felt wrong, calling Pacer to his room at night. The King couldn't help but feel exposed, doing this in his own private space, but there was no way he'd do it downstairs in front of everyone. He was capable of being stern, but not cruel. Pacer, when he showed up, was brazen and cocky, defiant as always. For once, the King wasn't taking it, and maybe Pacer sensed it, since he didn't bother to sugar-coat his displeasure.

                "What the fuck do you want?" he spat, sneering. The King frowned.

                "For one thing, I want you to learn a little respect. Don't you speak to me like that again."

                He stood up to his full height and reached past Pacer, shutting the door behind him. 

                "You've gone too far this time."

                Pacer snorted, his eyes expressive but unreadable and looking... very off.

                "Is that what this is about? A little brawling got outta hand -"

                "That brawl cost us two men!" the King snarled, and backhanded Pacer hard across the face.

                Both men froze. The King's hand was still touching Pacer's cheek. He let his hand drop, numbly.

                "I'm...I didn't mean to strike you like that, not in the face. I apologize," the King said softly. Pacer stared at him, eyes wide, pupils too big. Something was wrong - Pacer would never take a blow like that without retaliating. The King searched for meaning in his blank, slack face.

                Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

                "Damn it, Pace, are you high?"

                Pacer didn't reply, but he didn't really need too. The King shook him by the shoulders - slightly at first, then with more force, until Pacer shoved him back. The volatile man turned to leave and fought when the King pulled him back by the arm.

                "Fuck you!" Pacer protested. "I'm getting out of here -"

                "No, you're staying right here till I'm through with you! I've let you stray too far, much farther than I thought. I can't go back and fix it, but I can sure as hell try to rein you in now."

                There was silence, but for the nonverbal sounds of panting and struggling, as the King wrestled Pacer over to the bed and bent him over his lap. Pacer swore and kicked his legs, but the chems in his system were slowing him down. Soon the King had him pinned, one hand holding him down and the other poised to strike.

                The King faltered. He'd never really thought about Pacer's body before - not bent over his lap, at least. The seat of Pacer's pants was tight against the curve of his ass and he was so still, his whole body tight and quivering as he waited for the blow to fall.

                The King brought his hand down hard against Pacer's backside. The force of the blow made his palm burn. Pacer sucked in a breath and wriggled in an attempt to escape. The King smacked him again, and again, over and over and over until Pacer lay still, his head buried in his arms. The King felt strange, like he was the one who was drugged. His arm was aching, his blood was roaring in his ears. Dimly, he could feel Pacer's swollen cock against his thigh. If he could feel Pacer, then he was sure Pacer could feel him, too.

                The King let his hand settle on Pacer's clothed ass. The touch made Pacer shudder, lying limp and quivering in his superior's arms. The King realized, once his heart stopped pounding loud enough to deafen him, that Pacer was crying.

                "Hey, hey now, that's enough. Turn over, c'mon..."

                Pacer shook his head, keeping his arm over his face as the King man-handled him onto his back. He didn't bother to hide his erection, choosing instead to keep his tears out of view.

                The reality of the situation, that he'd just _spanked Pacer,_ and that Pacer was _crying and hard because of him,_ finally sunk in and turned the King’s stomach. Whatever discipline this had been meant to convey was as good as gone, had been since arousal had come into the mix.

                Apologies flowed from the King's lips, intermingled with justifications that it had to be done for the good of the group, for the good of Freeside, and he gripped his subordinate's upper arm and squeezed it, pleading for some semblance of understanding, of empathy, from the man he knew could give him anything but that.

                "Do y'understand? I just want what's best."

                _For you. For everyone._

                When Pacer didn't respond, desperation made the King try to appease him in the most instinctive way possible, but the moment he cupped his hand over the bulge in Pacer's pants, the younger man finally broke free from him and crawled out of arm's reach, his face finally visible.

                His eyes were wide and angry, red and wet, his face, flushed and contorted with rage.

                "You... you fucking..."

                "I just thought -"

                "Yeah, well, don't think so much - not if this is what it does to you! Last thing we need is a fruit running Freeside."

                The King opened his mouth to reply, but Pacer had already escaped through his bedroom door. Wearily, he sat back with a sigh.

                He should follow, he knew. Once again, Pacer was running around like a wild thing, angry and drugged. There'd be a fistfight in the streets if he didn't do something.

                The King didn't move. He was still hard, but he didn't move, not even to adjust himself. All he could see was the raw emotion in Pacer's eyes. He'd looked vulnerable... reachable.

                All these years, the King tried to be a hands-off leader. There were a lot of thin lines you could cross if you got too involved. He wondered if this would be one of those transgressions that no amount of charm or sweet-talk could fix.

                Staring down at his tented pants, guilt seeping through his body like a sickness, the King felt his own eyes get a little colder.


End file.
